Bruna Kissed Me in the Bathroom and Everything Changed That Night

There were five of us, all friends from university, and we got together at least once a month. We’d each gone into different careers, but in first year we’d shared so many core classes that our group lunches had become something sacred. That was how that strange friendship stuck: a mix of sisters, accomplices, witnesses to every stage.

That night we were gathering at Pilar’s place to keep Lorena company. Her boyfriend had dumped her two weeks earlier for a coworker, and ever since she’d been answering messages in monosyllables. We put out a spread on the table, opened a bottle of red wine, and let her cry as much as she needed to cry.

“You’re gorgeous, you’re young, you don’t have kids with him,” I told her, resting my glass on her knee. “If he left you, he did you a favor.”

“That’s what they all say,” Lorena replied, forcing a smile.

“We say it because it’s true,” Sofía cut in. Of the five of us, she was the least patient with romantic drama. She sat up from the sofa and looked at each of us in turn. “You know what the only thing is that fixes this? Going out. Now. How long has it been since all five of us went out together?”

Bruna raised her hand from the floor, where she was settled against some cushions. She was the tallest in the group, with big brown eyes, full lips, straight shoulder-length hair, and hips the rest of us envied without even trying to hide it. Up to that point she had always been closer to Sofía than to me. That night, though, her gaze wasn’t going to leave me for the entire evening.

“I’m in,” Bruna said. “But someone lend me something—I didn’t bring anything to go out in.”

Pilar tossed her a short black dress from the closet, and in less than an hour the five of us were in a taxi on the way to the bar.

***

We got there close to one. The music was already loud, the place was thick with bodies, and it smelled of perfume mixed with alcohol. Sofía, Pilar, and Lorena made their way to the bar queue to get the first drinks; Bruna and I lingered behind, looking for a table high enough that we wouldn’t lose sight of the group.

“There,” she said, pointing. “The corner one.”

As we pushed through the crowd, I felt her hand rest for a second on my waist to guide me. It was so brief I could have imagined it, but I didn’t imagine it. Her fingers pressed right above my hip bone, with that kind of firmness you don’t use on a friend.

I had never hidden from my friends that I was bisexual. They’d known since the first time someone had asked the question at a bar table years ago, and none of them had made a drama of it. That was why I never really thought about them in that way. They were my friends. They were off-limits.

Until that night.

When the other three came back with the tray of drinks, Bruna was already leaning toward me, telling me some work story or other, laughing with that silly laugh of hers at bad jokes. Her eyes were shining. I laughed too, more out of habit than because I understood what she was saying.

“Dance floor,” Sofía ordered, lifting her glass. “Come on.”

Lorena, Pilar, Sofía, and I went to dance. Bruna chose to stay at the table, watching the bags.

I started moving without thinking. It was the kind of music that went straight to your hips, and after her second drink Lorena’s expression softened. We danced pressed together, laughing, exaggerating the sway to get the attention of some cute guy. I felt something at my back, as if I were being watched, and assumed it was Bruna keeping watch from her post.

On one of the turns, when I faced the tables, I saw her. She wasn’t looking at Lorena. She wasn’t looking at Sofía or Pilar. Bruna’s gaze was fixed on me, on my waist, on my neck, on the part of my back the dress left bare. Her glass was pressed to her lips, untouched.

I played it cool. I kept dancing, but something inside me had gone out of order. Every movement was no longer for the handsome guys in the bar; it was for her. I arched a little more, let the fabric ride up my thighs, felt my cunt growing wet beneath my panties without permission from anyone.

***

I went back to the table when I started sweating. Lorena followed me, letting herself drop onto the bench beside me.

“You dance amazingly,” Bruna said, handing me my glass. “You’re sexy doing it.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” I answered, taking a long drink to hide the heat that had climbed into my face.

“I’m not exaggerating at all. Were you taught somewhere, or does it just come naturally?”

“It just comes naturally.”

She laughed. She rested her hand on my arm, fingers spread, and left it there a second too long. I looked down at her hand and then up at her eyes. She didn’t look away from either one.

I took out my phone to check notifications and give my hands something to do. That was when Pilar and Sofía came back, almost at a trot.

“Look who’s here,” Sofía said. “The guys from your high school, the ones in the photo.”

I looked up. On the other side of the bar there was a group of men I did indeed recognize: Joaquín, Diego, Sebastián, Mauro. We’d crossed paths at some birthday or other ages ago.

“Will you introduce them to us?” Sofía asked, with that hunter’s smile. “Pilar wants the blond one.”

“The blond one is Mauro,” I said, laughing. “I’ll introduce you, but don’t make me look bad.”

I crossed the bar, greeted them with a couple of kisses, and invited them to join us at the table. Diego made a face as if he didn’t quite believe it and brought the other three along like they were his troops. They ordered a bottle of sparkling wine and a pitcher of something with energy drink in it. Lorena started talking with Sebastián, Pilar sat in front of Mauro, Sofía took charge of Joaquín and Diego.

Bruna didn’t say anything. She drank slowly, nodded whenever someone included her in the conversation, and every so often she looked at me.

I got up.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I said.

I walked, dodging people. I pushed open the women’s restroom door, crowded with girls touching up mascara and shouting jokes at one another in the mirrors. I found a gap in front of a mirror, opened my purse, took out my lipstick.

The door opened behind me again. I saw in the reflection that it was her.

***

Bruna came closer until she was standing a step away. She didn’t pretend she’d come for something else. She didn’t look for her own mirror. She stood there, watching me put on my makeup.

“That dress looks incredible on you,” she said, slowly. “It shows off your whole body.”

“Thanks,” I replied, not taking my eyes off the mirror.

She laid her palm on my left arm and slid it to my elbow. A full caress, slow, not even pretending. The lipstick trembled a millimeter in my hand.

“Are you okay?” I asked, looking at her through the reflection.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m okay.”

And then she moved closer, took my face in both hands, and kissed me. It wasn’t a test kiss. It was a long, deep kiss, mouth open and tongue inside mine from the very first second. She tasted like red wine and the mint from the gum she’d been chewing. I answered before I even thought. I sucked her tongue, bit it lightly, and felt a soft moan escape her against my mouth. She pressed into me and I felt her heavy breasts flatten against mine through the thin fabric of both dresses.

When she pulled away, I spent three seconds staring at her and understanding this was really going to happen. Then I grabbed her wrist, pulled her into one of the stalls, and locked the latch.

I shoved her against the door with both hands on her shoulders. I kissed her again, dirtier this time, sucking her bottom lip until it swelled. I bit her neck, licked from her collarbone to behind her ear, and she threw her head back, bumping it softly against the wood. I hauled Pilar’s borrowed dress up over her hips, pulled her panties halfway down her thighs with two fingers, and slid my right hand between her legs.

She was wet. Completely soaked, her cunt dripping as if it had been like that all night. I ran my fingers over her swollen lips and felt them part on their own, hot, slick. I brought my hand to my mouth and sucked one finger while looking her in the eye.

“You taste good, you fucking bitch,” I whispered.

“I’ve wanted this for a while,” she answered, her voice hoarse, against my ear. “Since I saw you come in here in that dress, my cunt’s been a fucking soup.”

“Me too,” I told her, not really knowing since when that was true. “Shut up and spread your legs more.”

She obeyed. I rubbed my thumb over her clit, first just barely, then in slow circles, feeling it harden beneath the pad like a tiny hard button. Bruna grabbed the hair at the nape of my neck and kissed me again so she wouldn’t moan too loudly. It wasn’t enough. She let out a whimper against my mouth, deep, and then another.

“Shh,” I covered her lips with my other hand. “There are people outside.”

She nodded, eyes closed, forehead resting against mine. I slid two fingers into her slowly and her cunt closed around them like a hot fist. She arched her back. I shoved my fingers all the way in, pulled them out, shoved them back in, and by the third thrust she was moving on her own against my hand, riding my fingers with her hips.

“Like that, like that, deeper,” she moaned softly. “Fuck me with your hand, come on.”

I pressed her whole body against the door and started moving with a firmer rhythm, taking both fingers in up to the knuckles, curling them to hit the spot up top, the one that made her clench her teeth. With my thumb I kept rubbing her clit. The wet slap of my hand against her soaked cunt could be heard over the music muffled from outside.

She didn’t stay still either. As best she could, with hands made clumsy by alcohol and urgency, she undid the first buttons of the shirt I wore under the dress and pulled out one breast. She kneaded it fully, squeezed hard, pinched my nipple until I gasped. Then she lowered her head and sucked it with a mix of hunger and curiosity that made my knees go weak. She licked my nipple in circles, bit it, sucked it like it was candy, and with her other hand she reached under my dress and slid her fingers over my panties, squeezing my cunt through the soaked fabric.

“You’re just as wet as I am,” she murmured against my breast.

“Shut up,” I said, feeling that I was already on the edge even though she still hadn’t properly touched me. “Wait.”

I knelt down. The bathroom floor wasn’t the most glorious place in the world, but I didn’t care anymore. I lifted one leg, rested it on my shoulder, and opened her cunt with both thumbs. It was pink, swollen, shining with her juices, the clit already out and throbbing. I stared at it for a few seconds, breathing against it, and she shoved my face into her cunt with a hand on the back of my neck.

“Don’t make me wait, please.”

I ran my whole tongue from bottom to top, from the opening to the clit, sucking up everything she had. She tasted sweet and salty at the same time, and I swallowed it all without disgust, eagerly. I drove my tongue into her slit and licked her like I wanted to drink her. Then I focused on the clit, first slow, then more insistently, sucking it between my lips, playing with the tip of my tongue. Bruna bit the back of her hand to keep from shouting and with the other she pressed my head against her cunt, not letting me breathe.

I slipped two fingers inside her again while I licked, curling them upward, and she started moving against my face, hips forward and back, faster and faster, riding my mouth and my hand at the same time. I could feel the trembling of her thighs squeezing my temples, the sweat running down the inside of her leg, her broken breath.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she panted, her voice muffled.

She came like that, squeezing her thighs against my temples until she almost covered my ears, holding in a long cry between her teeth. I felt her tremble in my fingers, in my mouth, in her whole body. Her cunt contracted three, four times around my fingers, and a new wave of slick wetness soaked my chin and jaw. I swallowed it all, sucking slowly until she pulled my head away with a broken moan because she couldn’t take any more.

I stayed kneeling for a moment, looking up at her from below, face shining, lips swollen. She took me by the armpits and pulled me to my feet, then kissed me on the mouth like that, with her own taste still on my tongue. She didn’t make a single disgusted face. On the contrary, she sucked my lips and chin as if she wanted to clean me herself.

“Now you,” she whispered, and slid her hand down to put it under my dress.

She hooked my panties to one side with two fingers and touched me directly. I was so wet her hand slipped right in. She found my clit with the pad of her middle finger and started making quick circles, clumsy at first, better almost immediately. I held onto her shoulders and spread my legs a little to give her room.

“Look at me,” she said. “Look at me while I touch you.”

I looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her lipstick smeared, her eyes bright. She slid one finger inside, then two, and started pumping slowly. She pressed her mouth to my ear and whispered all kinds of filthy things while she fucked me with her hand.

“You’re so tight, you fucking bitch. So hot. It’s running down your wrist. Come for me. Come on, come on my hand like a slut.”

I couldn’t hold on anymore. I clung to her neck, buried my face against her shoulder to muffle the noise, and let myself go. With every thrust of her fingers I felt the orgasm rise from my feet. I bit her shoulder when it hit. A long moan escaped me, crushed against her skin, and my legs shook so badly that if she hadn’t been holding me up I would’ve gone to the floor.

I stayed hanging off her for a while, her fingers still inside me, feeling each contraction around them. She only moved them a little, just enough to stretch it out for me.

“That’s enough, that’s enough,” I asked. “I can’t take any more.”

She pulled her fingers out slowly and brought them to her mouth. She sucked them one by one, watching me, and smiled.

“You were right. You do taste good.”

***

I pulled her panties back up and adjusted her dress. My heart was still racing. I gave her a soft kiss, almost an apology for the rush of the ones before, and whispered:

“Come on. They’ll be waiting for us.”

We left the stall. In the mirror, a girl with bangs pretended not to have seen us. We fixed ourselves in silence: me my hair, her her lipstick. When we were about to leave, Bruna grabbed my hand for a second.

“It was my first time,” she said, not looking at me. “With a woman.”

I looked at her. She didn’t look remorseful. She looked like someone who had just discovered something.

“And?” I asked.

“And I want another. Whenever you want.”

“Whenever I want is now,” I replied.

She laughed softly and squeezed my hand before letting go.

When we went back to the table, no one had missed us. Lorena was laughing with Sebastián, Pilar had Mauro’s hand on her knee, Sofía was arguing about something with Joaquín. Bruna and I sat down beside them, separated by the width of a chair, exchanging conspiratorial looks whenever someone said something funny.

No one found out that night. No one found out during the following month, when we started seeing each other at her apartment on the afternoons when she got off work early. We locked ourselves in her room and didn’t come out until night, fucking in bed, against the wall, in the shower, with mouths, with hands, with a dildo she kept hidden in the back of a drawer and that turned out to be a lot less shy than it looked. After that, we stopped hiding it. Lorena’s face lit up when we told her; Sofía said she’d already suspected as much over some faculty lunch; Pilar asked for details we didn’t give her.

It’s been almost a year since that night at the bar.

Sometimes I still think, while I watch her sleep with her cunt still warm from the two times I made her come in a row, that it all began with a bathroom, a lipstick, and a look that was no longer a friend’s.