My best friend confessed what she’d been keeping from me for years

It was nine at night when I walked into the town supermarket, still with the dust from the trip stuck to my sneakers. I’d been back living here for three weeks after almost a decade in the capital, and I still hadn’t gotten used to the silence of the streets at that hour.

I was standing in front of the shampoo aisle, calculating whether the good one or the cheap one was worth it, when I heard a shout that made me drop the bottle.

—Sofi! Sofía!

I looked up and there was Camila, peeking over the cookies with the same smile she’d had at eighteen, only now there were two fine lines around her eyes that made her even prettier. She came almost running, with a half-full basket, and hugged me so hard I ended up with my face against her neck.

—I can’t believe it —she said, not letting go of me—. I can’t believe you’re here.

We’d met at a graduation party, when she was my best friend’s classmate. Then college kept crossing our paths, we became close, we told each other everything. When I left to study in the capital, something cooled off between us, not because of a fight but because that’s what life does. She got married, had a son, and I spent my time bouncing between lovers of both genders with no real plan. It had been at least four years since we’d seen each other in person.

We made plans to get together that same week. Between the shampoo aisle and the checkout, she told me she’d been separated for a year and a half, that her kid was already seven, that she lived alone in a little house three blocks from the square. I told her I’d come back without a clear plan, that I needed air, that the capital had sucked everything out of me. We talked like the years hadn’t passed, standing in the middle of the aisle and letting people dodge around us with annoyed faces.

—Friday —she said before leaving—. We’ll go for a drink. You choose.

***

On Friday I put on a short dress I hadn’t worn since the summer before, ankle boots, and the leather jacket my mother had given me. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought it was fine, not too much, not too little. I was nervous anyway, and I was embarrassed to be nervous. She was my friend, not a date.

When she walked into the bar I understood why I’d put on the dress. Camila was wearing stretchy jeans that highlighted the wide hips she’d always had, and a thin white T-shirt, almost see-through, with no bra underneath. Her hair was shorter than before, down to her shoulders. She stood in the doorway looking for me, and when she found me, she smiled in a way that made my stomach tingle.

—You’re gorgeous —I told her as soon as she sat down, because I wasn’t going to keep that to myself.

—You look worse —she shot back—. And I came here with the idea of not feeling ugly next to you.

We ordered craft beers. She’d never tried one, and I had her taste two or three different ones, laughing every time she wrinkled her nose. She brought me up to date. The divorce, the dates afterward that ranged from pathetic to outright disturbing, one guy who’d shown her photos of his ex on the first dinner. And, almost in passing, she let slip that a few months earlier she’d had a threesome with a couple she met through an app.

—You? —I asked, almost spitting out my beer.

—Me —she said, staring right at me—. I’d always been curious about being with a woman. And well, it happened, and I said yes.

—And?

—And I liked it more than I expected.

There was an odd silence, the kind that lasts a second but weighs three. I looked down at the coaster and she took a swallow of beer to cover her own reaction. We changed the subject right away, talking about the kid, the father, my return to town. But something had been left floating over the table, and we both knew it.

Three beers later we decided it’d be a shame to go home so early. We crossed over to a nightclub in the center, a small dance floor with violet lights and music thudding against the walls. As soon as we walked in, Camila grabbed my arm and whispered in my ear, with that same conspiratorial smile she’d had at twenty:

—Let’s do it like before. If anyone asks, we’re girlfriends.

—Done.

It was an old trick of ours to keep pushy guys from coming on to us. It worked halfway; some bright spark always turned up offering a sandwich, but at least we had fun scaring them off. That night, though, the game felt different. When she put her arm around my waist so a guy would understand he had no chance, she squeezed for a second too long. When we danced, her hips didn’t pull away from mine. When she leaned in to shout something in my ear, her lips brushed my neck.

At one in the morning, exhausted and a little tipsy, we went outside to wait for the car under the glowing sign at the entrance. We were laughing at some stupid joke when she suddenly grew serious.

—Sofi.

—What?

—I like you.

She said it like that, no embellishment, looking at me with eyes a little glassy from the beer but perfectly aware.

—I’ve always liked you —she added—. Since first year of college. I never told you because I thought it was just some bullshit in my head.

I laughed, not because it was funny but because I didn’t know what to do with that. I told her I liked her too, that I told her with my body and with my head, how could I not like her. I said it fast, like it was a joke, because the other option was to take it seriously and I didn’t have enough air for that.

Right then the car pulled up. We got in. I gave the driver her address first, then mine. The second we pulled away, Camila leaned toward me and kissed me on the mouth.

It wasn’t a drunk peck. It was a slow kiss, eyes closed, her hand resting on the back of my neck. I kissed her back without thinking, because in the ten seconds it lasted I understood that I’d wanted to kiss her for years and I’d never realized it. Her tongue eased its way in slowly, tasting me, and I answered with hunger, feeling my pulse hammering in my throat. Her mouth was warm, tasting of beer and promise. She nipped my lower lip lightly, as if to check whether I was awake too, and when I let out a soft gasp, she laughed against my mouth.

When we got to the height of her house, she grabbed the driver’s arm.

—Change of plans. We’re going to the other address.

—Are you sure? —I asked softly.

—Absolutely.

***

We came into my apartment making more noise than necessary, laughing at nothing like two teenagers. I offered her water, she laughed. I offered more wine, she laughed harder. Then she went to the bathroom to take off her makeup and I stayed in the living room looking for a T-shirt of mine that would fit her comfortably, even though we both knew she wouldn’t need it.

When I knocked on the bathroom door with a towel in my hand, she opened it naked. She was bent over the bathtub, adjusting the water temperature, her back arched and those hips I’d been staring at all night beneath the stretchy jeans. Water splashed over her thighs and ran down her stomach until it disappeared between her legs. Her breasts were firm, medium-sized, with nipples hard from the cold of the bathroom, and I stared at them a second too long.

—Are you getting in with me? —she asked over her shoulder, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I didn’t answer. I stripped off my dress without undoing my boots, struggled with them for a second, laughed, ended up naked against the door frame. She came over, cupped my face in both hands, and kissed me standing under the shower spray. Water fell over us like a heavy curtain, and suddenly the whole bathroom smelled of soap and hot skin.

—Slowly —she told me when I tried to rush her—. I want you whole. I don’t want to miss anything.

She turned me against the tiles and kissed my neck, my shoulders, my back, while her hands moved over my ribs and she grabbed my breasts from behind. I closed my eyes and let the water hit my face. Her fingers squeezed my nipples, rolling them slowly until my back arched, and then one hand went down my stomach, tracing a wet line until she found me between my legs. She opened me with her palm, testing the heat, and when she sank two fingers into my sex, I felt a jolt run through me.

—You’re soaking —she murmured in my ear, with a voice so dirty I didn’t know she had it in her.

I pressed my forehead to the tiles, trembling, while she stroked my entrance and clit in slow, precise circles, driving me crazy with no rush at all. I opened my legs wider to let her work better. Water ran down my ass and thighs, mixing with my own juices, and every time she touched me there I felt a delicious, unbearable shame.

—Do you like it? —she asked in my ear.

—Yes —I said, and the word came out broken.

—Say it again.

—Yes. I love it. Keep going.

Then she turned me around again to kiss my mouth and, without stopping, cut the water and dragged us out. We went down the hallway leaving a trail behind us, laughing, bumping into walls. We reached the bed wet and she shoved me onto the sheet. She spread my legs with her knees, knelt between them, and looked at me as if she had all night and no hurry at all.

She got on top of me, kissed my neck, went down my sternum, lingered on each of my breasts with a calm that drove me wild. She sucked my nipples until they were hard and sensitive, gave them tiny bites, then licked them again, alternating between one and the other, while I buried my fingers in her short hair and tried not to rush her. When she finally went down between my legs and put her mouth there, she parted me with her fingers, opened my pussy wide and licked me from below, first slowly, then with a firmer, hungrier tongue. I felt her hot breath on my skin and saw her looking at me between my legs, eyes locked on mine, as if she wanted to watch me come apart piece by piece. That image, more than what she was doing with her tongue, was what made me come a few minutes later, gripping the sheet with both hands and moaning her name in a thread of a voice.

She came up, kissed me on the mouth, made me taste myself. She kissed me slowly, her mouth wet with my juices, and left me shaking. Then she lay back beside me, opening her legs without a trace of shame, as if she were offering me something sacred and filthy at the same time.

—Your turn —she murmured, smiling.

I sat on her thigh and started tracing her with my hands. Her skin was still wet and prickled in the cold air from the fan. I pushed her hair out of her face, kissed her breasts, licked her nipples until she began to pant, and went down slowly because she’d done the same for me and she deserved it. When I reached between her legs and ran my tongue over her for the first time, she moaned in a way that made me doubt I hadn’t been missing this my whole life. Her cunt was hot, slippery, with her clit already hard under my tongue. I heard her breathing in short bursts, grabbing my head, tugging my hair and asking me not to slow down.

—Harder —she asked after a few minutes, pulling my hair—. More, don’t stop.

I remembered the harness I had tucked away in the nightstand drawer. I reached for it without letting her go, took it out, fitted it on in the dark while she laughed softly, waiting. I put her face down, settled her hips on a pillow, and went in slowly. She buried her face in the pillow and pushed back to find me. The first thrust tore a long, rough moan from her, and I grabbed her hips to get inside her better, feeling her ass slam against me with each stroke.

—Just like that, Sofi —she said, her voice broken—. Fuck me deeper.

I gave her another thrust, deeper. Then another. The leather of the harness rubbed my pelvis and the friction heated me more than I wanted to admit. I spread her legs with my knee, lifted her hips a little, and started fucking her with a steady rhythm, no mercy, listening to the wet sound of our bodies meeting. She clutched the sheets, arched her back, and I felt her whole body tense every time I drove all the way in. The stillness of the room had broken; now there was only her moans, the slap against the bed, my breathing, and that thick smell of sex settling onto our skin.

—Hit me —she said, turning her head just a little—. One slap, that’s all.

I gave her one. Then another. Her ass trembled under my hand, red and hot. Then I turned her over, put her legs over my shoulders, and looked her in the face while I kept fucking her, watching her mouth open, watching her close her eyes and bite her lip to hold on. I sank my fingers into her hip, kept the rhythm, and brought her right to the edge until she came with a trembling moan, her pelvis shaking against me, her cunt clenching me in short spasms that made me nearly lose control too.

When I took off the harness and let myself fall beside her, she climbed on top of me without giving me time to breathe.

—One thing’s missing —she said.

She opened my legs, settled between them in a strange way, almost astride but crossed, and started rubbing her sex against mine. Slowly at first, almost exploring. Then faster, gripping my thighs for support. Both of us wet, both of us at the same time, both of us looking into each other’s eyes with a concentration that was frightening. The friction of clit against clit was brutal, direct, and every movement pulled a new moan out of me, louder, more broken. She leaned down and bit my neck, then sucked my skin to leave me marked, while her hips kept pounding against mine with a persistence that dismantled me. I squeezed her ass with my hands, guided her, took her with me, until we came almost together, laughing at the end because it was impossible not to laugh.

We stayed wrapped around each other, sweaty, with no sheet over us, listening to the engine of a distant bus. She fell asleep first, her head on my collarbone. I stayed looking at her for a long while, thinking it wasn’t possible we’d been friends for ten years without this.

***

A kiss on the mouth woke me, slow, unhurried.

—Hi —she said.

—Hi.

We lay there in silence for a while, staring at the ceiling. Then she laughed to herself.

—Do you know how many times I masturbated thinking about you? —she said—. Every time you told me you’d been with some girl, I’d go home and do whatever to myself thinking it was me.

—And why never say anything?

—Because you saw me as a friend. Or that’s what I thought. And I’d rather have you as a friend than lose you over some stupid thing in my head.

I kissed her again. I stroked her hair. I didn’t want her to leave, but she had to go pick up her son from his father’s place, and by eleven she was already starting to hurry.

At the door, while she put her jacket on, she gave me a kiss that left my legs weak. Not one of those enthusiastic ones, but a short kiss, almost formal, with a weight inside it that couldn’t be explained by how long it lasted.

—I’ll text you —she said.

—I’ll be waiting.

An hour later the message arrived.

“We’re seeing each other this week.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I want you.”

I replied that I was eagerly waiting for her and set the phone face down on the table, smiling to myself in my kitchen as the coffee went cold and I finally understood that I’d come back to town for more than just air.