My Friend Confessed Her Desire to Me at the School Gate

It was the beginning of June and, as every morning, I dropped my son off at the school gate. She was already there, saying goodbye to hers with that distracted gesture mothers in a hurry have. Her name was Marisol, and for almost a year we’d had the same routine: the kids went in, we crossed to the café opposite, and we had a long coffee while we talked about everything and nothing.

But that morning I could tell something was off. Distant, as if she were carrying something she couldn’t quite let go of.

—What’s wrong? —I asked, stirring my sugar without really looking at her.

—Nothing, really. My own silly stuff.

—Marisol, I know you. Tell me.

It took her a while to answer. She lowered her eyes to her cup, played with the spoon, and when she finally spoke, it was in a low voice.

—It’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time. But I’m afraid things will change between us.

—They won’t change —I told her—. We’re friends. Tell me.

There were people around, so she picked up her phone and started typing. It took her a while, deleting and rewriting, until finally she showed me the screen. My heart lurched. What I read left no room for interpretation: she was telling me she liked me, that she’d been imagining me for months, that she desired me in a way she didn’t dare say out loud.

I read the message twice, not because I didn’t understand it, but because I needed time. The noise of the café became a distant murmur. Suddenly I was aware of everything: her perfume, the way her fingers kept holding the phone between us, the heat rising up my neck.

I looked up. She was blushing, waiting for my reaction like someone waiting for a judge’s verdict.

If she only knew what I’d been keeping to myself.

—I’ve always liked women —I said, and the confession came out firmer than I expected—. I’m bisexual. I never told you because… well, because it just never came up.

Relief transformed her face. She smiled, and for the first time all morning she held my gaze.

—My husband works late —she whispered—. The house is empty. If you want to come…

I didn’t need to think about it. But I did ask her for an hour. I wanted to go home first, shower, and get ready. And, since we were at it, give her a little surprise.

***

At home I got into the shower and let the water wash the nerves away. Then I put on sheer stockings and a lace set I’d been saving for occasions that almost never came. Before leaving, I opened the nightstand drawer and slipped a vibrator I’d had for a long time into my bag, just in case things got interesting. Better to bring it and not need it than the other way around.

When I got to her building, my hands were trembling a little. Marisol opened the door before I could ring, as if she’d been waiting behind it. She was wearing a short robe and had her hair tied up, and as soon as I went in I felt that thick tension in the air, the kind you feel when both of you know why you’re there but neither dares to start.

We sat on the sofa in the living room. Just to do something with my hands, I asked her the question I’d been mulling over the whole way there.

—Why me? Why now?

—Because it’s something I’ve wanted for years —she answered—. To be with another woman. Once I suggested it to my husband, inviting someone over, and he wouldn’t even hear it. And with you… with you it’s different. With you it isn’t a whim.

I didn’t let her go on. I leaned in and kissed her. It was a slow kiss at first, tentative, and very quickly it became something else: hungry, deep, tongues seeking each other and hands losing their shyness. I could feel the lace starting to dampen just from anticipation.

I opened her robe. Underneath she was wearing almost nothing. I caressed her breasts, the small hard nipples, and she responded by slipping her hands under my clothes, tracing my back, my waist, everything she could reach. We undressed each other slowly, garment by garment, until we were both down to our underwear on the cushions.

I gently pushed her back until she was lying down. I took off the last piece and stood there for a moment looking at her, savoring the sight. Her skin was flushed and her chest was rising and falling quickly. I bent down and kissed the inside of her thighs, first one and then the other, slowly moving upward and making her wait. I wanted her at the limit before I touched her properly.

When I finally went down, I started licking her slowly, listening to her breathing break apart. She tangled her fingers in my hair and began to guide me, to ask for more, to tell me between gasps exactly what she wanted. I slid a finger inside her, then two. She was drenched, burning hot, and every time I touched her inside she arched her back and spread her legs wider, as if she could never get enough.

—Don’t stop —she begged—. Please, don’t stop.

I didn’t stop. I kept my tongue on her clit while I fingered her, keeping a rhythm that drove her to the edge. Her moans filled the living room, sharper and sharper, until her whole body went taut like a string. She came hard, pressing against my mouth, repeating my name as if it were the only word she had left.

When she finished, she was left trembling, with a silly smile on her face. She pulled me up and kissed me, tasting herself on my lips without the slightest shame.

—Now it’s my turn —she said.

***

She laid me on the sofa and positioned herself between my legs. And I discovered something I’d suspected but never fully confirmed: no mouth knows a woman’s body like another woman’s mouth. She knew where to press, where to ease off, when to speed up and when to leave me on the brink without letting me fall. I’d had oral sex many times, but never like that.

She slid in one finger, then another, and I, hot as I was, asked for more. I wanted to feel her all the way. She understood and gradually added pressure, patiently, until I felt something I’d never felt before. A new fullness, intense, almost overwhelming. I bit my lip not to cry out.

She kept licking my clit while filling me, and the combination carried me away without mercy. I could feel every movement of hers inside me, slow and firm, and at the same time her tongue setting a rhythm that gave me no respite. I tried to hold on, to prolong the moment, but it was impossible.

I came with a long shudder that ran from my feet to my head, clutching the cushions, breathless. I closed my eyes and let the wave take me whole. It took me a good while to come back to reality, still feeling aftershocks every time she moved.

When I recovered, I remembered what I had in my bag.

—I’ve got something —I told her, and went to get it.

I took out the vibrator and Marisol’s eyes lit up. It was a double one, made exactly for that. I told her about it and she laughed, delighted with the idea. We positioned ourselves at each end, face to face, our legs intertwined, and started moving, searching for the rhythm. It was the first time I’d done anything like that, and the sensation of having her inside me while feeling her move against me completely clouded my mind.

We looked into each other’s eyes the whole time. That was the most intimate part of all: not looking away, seeing in her face the exact reflection of what I was feeling. We came almost at the same time, and even so we kept going a little longer, not wanting it to end, stretching out the pleasure until our bodies asked us to stop.

We collapsed onto the sofa, sweaty, exhausted, laughing like two kids who had just pulled off a prank. The living room smelled of sex and of the two of us together, and neither of us made the slightest move to cover up or pretend to be embarrassed. We were tangled together, skin to skin, catching our breath.

Marisol stroked my hair and, still breathless, confessed that she hadn’t imagined I was like this, so uninhibited. She told me she’d been spinning fantasies in her head for months, but nothing she’d imagined came close to what had just happened.

—And that’s not even all you’ve seen yet —I said.

She bit her lip. She took my hand and led me down the hallway, toward the bathroom, where a jacuzzi was waiting. I asked her what she was plotting.

—I’ve got more things to tell you —she said with a mischievous smile—. But upstairs.

I followed her without letting go of her hand. That morning, when I saw her looking strange at the school gate, I never imagined the day would end like that. And by the way she looked at me while she filled the bath, I knew that this wasn’t going to be just an afternoon. It was the beginning of something neither of us intended to tell anyone.