My New Boss Hated Me Until That Night

When they notified me of my transfer to the inspection department, it hit me like a bucket of cold water. I had my routines on the night shift: few conversations, plenty of silence, and a boss I had learned to avoid. Andrés, the only colleague I sometimes shared a coffee with, tried to cheer me up with sensible arguments. I’d have my afternoons free, he said. I could read, go to the movies, see my boyfriend.

That word always made me smile inside. I had never had a boyfriend. My last girlfriend had left years earlier with all my savings, with all my desire. It took me three years to pay off the debts I’d signed for because I believed her. First they denied me a visa for Canada, then she found someone else, and I never saw a cent of the dollars. But that’s another story. That morning I arrived at five to eight and swore I’d never be late again.

In inspection, you count packages, arrange boxes, and deal with products that arrive broken. One of the girls explained that the secret was to keep your eyes open and talk little in front of the boss. The boss’s name was Marisol. According to the same advice, you were never supposed to contradict her. They assigned me a long table with a PC at one end, stacks of forms, a telephone that rang at odd times, and an entire section devoted to cosmetics. Another girl explained the system, I recorded it on my cell phone, and I got to work before anyone could notice that I was lost.

Marisol arrived at exactly eight and went into her office. That first week we didn’t exchange a word. I didn’t like her, although I had to admit she had good taste. Her perfumes were expensive, her makeup always perfect. She was taller than I was, without exaggerated curves, but she walked with an elegance that made you look at her ass even if you didn’t want to. And I, who hadn’t slept with anyone in years, more than once caught myself imagining her naked on her desk, legs spread and that painted mouth moaning my name.

The pay period ended without any major incidents. I paid the last installment on my refinanced debt and, despite the bank’s insistence, canceled the card. Two years in purgatory was enough. The next day I had my first clash with her.

There had been a mistake that wasn’t mine. Marisol reprimanded me in front of everyone and, when I tried to explain, she shouted at me. I told her firmly that I wasn’t going to allow that and followed her to her office with the delivery slips in my hand. I proved that she was the one who was wrong. Her eyes blazed. She told me that even if I was right, she was the one in charge, and ordered me out. She never spoke to me again. But that pay period I had no overtime listed under my name, and two written warnings appeared in my file. A third one would get me fired.

I worked hard. I stopped eating lunch so I could review my lists carefully. In less than two months the numbers never failed, but I lost almost four kilos and started getting catcalls in the street and at the unloading area.

One afternoon, when I was already closing out the inventory, two trucks arrived late and I had to stay. I left at almost nine, hungry, with a neat hatred of the human race. I crossed the lot, greeted the guard, and hurried toward the corner. Then I saw Marisol getting out of a car. The driver got out behind her. A pudgy, balding man dressed in expensive, badly worn clothes. Marisol turned around and spoke to him harshly. I couldn’t hear what she was saying. What I did see was the punch. It left her sprawled on the pavement like a limp body.

I ran. The man threw her purse at her, got into the car, and sped off with an absurd squeal of tires, like something out of a bad movie. The blow had landed between her mouth and nose. Her face was covered in blood and she was breathing with difficulty. Without caring that my clothes would get stained, I cleaned her face with a handkerchief and held her perfume near her neck so she would come around.

—Go away! I don’t need you! Damn busybody!

—Calm down, girl—I told her.

Then she hugged me and began to cry, and I felt as defeated as she did.

—I have to get my car—she said when she managed to breathe.

She searched for the keys in her purse. Her clothes were covered in dirt, her knees scraped raw. I realized I couldn’t let anyone at the company see her like that at that hour. I thought about inventing a mugging, but the idea made me laugh and hurt at the same time. I called a cab.

Five minutes later we were in my room. Marisol didn’t speak during the ride. She stared out the window as if the city were foreign to her, and perhaps it was, just as we all become foreign to ourselves when something like that splits our night in two. In my room I prepared warm water, alcohol, and disinfectant. I washed her face patiently. Her lips were swollen, but the blow hadn’t been as serious as it looked. I put ice in a napkin and she held it against her mouth herself.

—You should see a doctor—I suggested.

She didn’t hear me. I, on the other hand, couldn’t stop looking at her. Now that I saw her without a desk between us, I noticed that she was beautiful. A turned-up nose, light brown eyes, fine eyebrows, dyed-blond hair. Her skin was only slightly lighter than mine: she was mulatto, I was Black.

—He’s my husband—she said.

—Do you have children?

She shook her head.

—We’re separated. He lives in Lisbon. He came to get me.

I opened the refrigerator again. I found two pieces of melon, an apple, orange juice, and a serving of yesterday’s noodles. I settled on a cup of cold chocolate. The violence had closed my stomach.

—I… I’m going home—she murmured.

—Do you think that’s wise? Who lives with you?

—My sister. She’ll be worried.

—Call her first—I told her. You can’t risk him waiting for you.

—No. He wouldn’t dare—she replied, but she was already dialing.

While she spoke, I thought about how strange the whole thing was. I knew nothing about Marisol, and I didn’t want to get involved either.

—My sister’s on her way—she announced after hanging up.

I gave her a painkiller and laid her down on my bed. I turned on the television to cartoons, the only harmless thing I could think of. Without realizing it, we both fell asleep. Her sister arrived almost an hour later. They argued about whether Marisol should leave or stay. I asked permission to give my opinion and said she should stay, and that she shouldn’t go to work the next day. That startled her, as if the company would collapse without her. I asked how she planned to explain the swelling. She nodded, defeated. Her sister had brought her clean clothes. We went to bed early.

***

Marisol got up before I did. She made coffee and put her stained clothes in a bag.

—Do you know how to drive?—she asked.

I nodded.

—Here are the keys to my car. Bring it to me before noon. I already spoke to personnel and told them I’d had an accident on my way out. Put Lorena in your place.

—Are you staying here?

—Does it bother you?

—Not at all. But you should see a doctor.

The area around her nose was violet.

—You’ve helped me enough already. Believe me, I’ll be grateful forever.

—What if he comes back?

She shook her head.

—He won’t. By now he’s already at the airport. His flight to Lisbon leaves in two hours. He’s not coming back.

I didn’t ask anything else. When I was about to feel sorry for her, I forced myself to leave the room. I didn’t want that feeling weighing on me.

***

Marisol returned three days later with the swelling gone and an invented allergy to explain the bruise. That night, when I got back to my little room, her sister was waiting for me at the door. I offered her some ginseng tea and prepared myself to listen.

—Marisol was married to him for almost six years—she began. They separated three years ago and he moved to Lisbon. But every year he comes back and they have a vacation romance. This time he wanted to convince her to go with him to Portugal. To start the visa paperwork and… you know how those things end.

—And what happened?

—My mother and I convinced her it would be the biggest mistake of her life. He’s a man with money, but an unbearable macho. Marisol would leave her job and live at his mercy.

—Before you go on telling me intimate details—I interrupted—I want you to know that I have no kind of relationship with your sister. As a boss, she’s treated me pretty badly. Why are you telling me all this?

—I came to ask for your help.

It surprised me so much that I almost revealed my tastes just to make her leave. But that seemed unnecessarily rude.

—I don’t know what I can do.

—Marisol decided to sue him. And you would be a very valuable witness.

I agreed, although I didn’t like the idea at all. My tongue always does the opposite of what my head tells it.

***

Things sped up on a Friday. Almost everyone had left when three loaded trucks arrived: cosmetics, medicines, and cleaning products. Before Marisol came down, I took charge of the delivery slips and convinced the drivers to help me check the merchandise. When she came down from her office, she found me surrounded by boxes.

—Why didn’t you call me?—she said, dismissing the drivers with a gesture.

—If you finish the medicines, I’ll handle the cosmetics.

—Done.

Ten minutes later she took off her jacket, and I did the same. The head of security appeared to remind us that after eleven no section could remain open. Marisol recommended, with razor-sharp irony, that he also inform them that his subordinates had let three trucks in after seven, something expressly forbidden. The man left without saying a word.

We finished at almost one in the morning. Marisol sat down in front of my PC and drafted a scathing email to management.

—Let’s go. I’ll take you home. This is going to cause trouble—she said irritably.

She drove in silence. Only when she parked in front of my door did she take my hand before I got out.

—I think I owe you an apology. Or several. How about we go out tomorrow night and… talk?

I nodded. It was strange for me to have a date after so much time. And even stranger to have one with no apparent possibility of anything happening.

***

I arrived at work after noon, as she had suggested. At twelve-thirty she called me into the office.

—I’ll pick you up at eight. Dinner, or something more casual?

—We’ll decide on the way.

—Done.—She smiled. It was the first time I’d seen her smile. And, my God, smiling made her a different woman.

I dressed as if it were a real date. A red skirt with pink geometric flowers, a sleeveless cream linen blouse, a thread bracelet with porcelain details, sandals, and a matching purse. A mantilla with gold edging, a reminder of my old opulence before bankruptcy. Marisol arrived five minutes before eight. Turquoise dress with thin straps, stiletto heels, immaculate makeup.

We had dinner at a place near the old quarter. Tenderloin with mushrooms, plums in wine for dessert. I learned her whole story: a childhood with a wealthy, alcoholic father; an unhappy marriage according to her, with a plain bastard according to me. When we were on our fourth glass, she looked straight at me.

—Now you.

—A sentimental and financial failure like yours. I recovered nothing. I had to sell the house, the car, the business. But I’m free of debt now.

—And you recovered from the other thing, which is what matters most.

—How do you know?

—You’re confident. And sensible. Although sometimes you act too cautiously.

I felt warmth rise into my cheeks. Marisol noticed my discomfort and immediately changed the subject.

—The night is young. Shall we take a walk by the harbor?

We sat on a terrace full of couples and young people drinking beer. I ordered a piña colada with crushed ice, and she was astonished by the coincidence: it was her favorite drink too. We talked about adolescence, school, and silly things I hadn’t told anyone in years. It was almost two when she stifled her first yawn.

We got into the car. Just as she was starting it, her cell phone rang. She spoke to her sister, visibly irritated.

—We’re going to my apartment—she said after hanging up. My sister forgot to leave the door open. Sometimes I think she has premature Alzheimer’s.

—I hope nothing serious happened.

Marisol lived on the fourth floor of a building in the north of the city. There was no private security, at least that night, and the elevator was out of order. Before she went in, I stopped her and felt along the lock. At that moment the power went out, and I took out the little flashlight I always carried in my purse. Nothing had happened. Marisol switched on a battery inverter, and the living room lit up.

—Do you live alone?

—With my sister. But on Fridays she goes to my mother’s house in the country. She comes back Saturday to spend the weekend with her boyfriend. Sit down. Do you want something to drink?

—Ice water.

The living room was small but neatly arranged. A modern sofa, a well-kept rug, an entire wall of books. Marisol brought me the glass and turned on a small stereo. She searched through the recordings until an old bolero, one of the kind our mothers used to listen to, filled the silence. Then a slow ballad came on that I couldn’t help humming, and she looked into my eyes. Two mascara-darkened tears rolled down her cheeks.

—That’s how we are—she said. Strange. Nobody knows anybody. Nobody understands anybody.

I got up from the sofa and hugged her.

That warmth, that kind of solidarity capable of making two women sisters in a situation like that, brought us both to our feet without either of us deciding it. We remained locked in an embrace in the middle of the dim living room. Her perfume began to envelop me. I felt my nipples harden against the fine fabric of my blouse, pressing into her tits through the turquoise dress. I was afraid she would notice. I have to let her go, I thought, before I start something I won’t be able to stop. Then she asked me not to let go.

—Say it again—I murmured, my voice broken.

—Don’t let me go. Hold me, please. It’s been years since anyone touched me for real.

The soft flesh of her mouth was so close to mine that I let her kiss me. And that first kiss was not timid: her tongue entered my mouth directly, searching for mine, sucking it as if she had been rehearsing the gesture for months. I bit her swollen lip, and she let out a moan that ran down my belly and soaked my panties in a second. I grabbed her ass over the dress and pressed her against me, feeling the heat of her pussy through the fabric. Marisol sought out my breasts with both hands and squeezed my nipples between thumb and forefinger, twisting them until she pulled a moan from me.

—Fuck, they’re so hard—she panted against my mouth. You like tits, don’t you? It shows.

—I like yours. I imagined them a thousand times in the office.

—And what did you do to me, in your head?

—I sucked them until I made you scream.

—Do it now.

I lowered the dress straps and unclasped her bra with clumsy fingers that needed her help. Her tits fell free, heavy and brown, with dark, erect nipples, so thick they made my mouth water. I took them in both hands, squeezed them, kneaded them as if I had to recognize them with my fingers. Then I lowered my head and took an entire nipple into my mouth, sucking it with long-deferred hunger, circling it with my tongue, biting it slowly. Marisol grabbed the back of my neck and pressed my face against her tits.

—That’s it, that’s it, harder. Suck them like they were a cock. Like you were sucking me off.

I moved to the other nipple and did the same, biting it until she slipped her fingers into my hair and pulled. My thighs were running with wetness. I lifted her dress skirt and put a hand between her legs. Her panties were barely a scrap of fabric, a soaked triangle. I pulled them aside and found her pussy open, swollen, dripping onto the inside of her thigh.

—You’re soaked, Marisol—I whispered in her ear.

—Since you held my hand in the car—she replied, sinking her teeth into my neck.

I drove two fingers into her pussy at once, and she spread her legs while standing, bracing her back against the wall. I fucked her with my fingers like that, her dress pushed up to her waist and her tits bare, while I bit her neck and pressed my thumb against her clit. Marisol fucked my fingers with her pelvis, moving up and down and panting filthy things into my ear.

—Put them deeper. Fuck me harder. Like that, Black girl, like that, don’t stop.

—Do you like being fucked by your employee?

—I like being fucked by you. Shut up and keep going.

I said it while biting her earlobe, and she laughed with her mouth half open, showing me her teeth. I pulled out my soaked fingers and brought them to my mouth. I licked her juices slowly, without taking my eyes off her, and she stood frozen, staring at me.

—You taste delicious—I told her.

—Come eat it, then. Straight from the well.

We walked toward the bedroom, tripping over our clothes. I finished pulling her dress off in the hallway, tore away the already-loose panties, and she remained in heels, nothing but heels, walking toward the bed with her ass clenched. I undressed clumsily enough to make her laugh. Marisol lay on her back on the bed and offered herself completely, spreading her legs without shame, showing me her shaved pussy with a neat little triangle above it and everything else bare and gleaming.

—Come here—she said, spreading her pussy lips with two fingers. Lick me. Lick all of me until I come on your face.

I knelt between her legs and ran my tongue from her asshole to her clitoris in one long lick, tasting all of her. Marisol arched her back and screamed. I did it again, more slowly, sinking my tongue into the entrance of her pussy, sucking her swollen lips one by one, moving up to the clitoral hood and raining short licks over it. I grabbed her thighs underneath and lifted them, folding her nearly in half so I could thrust my tongue deep inside. I fucked her with my tongue for a long while, going in and out of her pussy as she fondled her tits and called me a cunt-licking whore.

—Put it in my ass too—she panted. Lick my ass, dirty Black girl.

I ran my tongue over her tight asshole, and she gave a sharp cry. I licked it for a while, circling it with the tip of my tongue, while two fingers continued moving in and out of her pussy. Then I went back up to her clitoris and sucked it like a fruit, taking the whole thing between my lips and drawing on it rhythmically. I felt her tense all over: the thighs squeezing my head, the belly contracting, the hands digging into my hair.

—I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming, don’t stop, you fucking bitch, don’t stop.

She came in my mouth with a tremor that lasted nearly a full minute, drenching my chin and squeezing my head between her thighs until she almost suffocated me. When I let her go, my face was soaked with her and I wore a smile too big for my expression.

—Now you—she said, pulling me by the arm to arrange me on the bed.

She laid me on my back and opened my legs with her hands, without asking permission. She studied my pussy closely, like someone examining something she was about to buy.

—You’re just as soaked as I am, look at that.

She ran two fingers along my slit, from top to bottom, smearing herself with my wetness. Then she sucked them slowly without taking her eyes off me.

—Delicious. I knew you’d taste good to me.

She lowered her mouth and ran her whole tongue over me in one stroke. I screamed. It had been years since anyone touched me, and never like that, with such hunger. Marisol licked me slowly at first, learning the terrain, then began sucking my clitoris with a technique that made me think she had lied when she said she had no experience with women. She slid two fingers inside me and curled them upward, finding the exact spot, while her mouth never let up. I held on to the headboard with one hand and her hair with the other, rocking her face against my pussy.

—Like that, like that, mommy, like that, don’t stop.

The words slipped out, and I burst into laughter between my moans. Marisol raised her face for a second, chin glistening, and smiled at me.

—Mommy’s going to leave you unable to walk tomorrow.

She lowered her mouth again. She plunged three fingers into me and sucked me with new fury, clicking her tongue against my clitoris, moaning against my flesh too. The orgasm rose from my heels. I felt the walls of my pussy close around her, the blood rush into my ears, and myself shouting something I couldn’t make out. I came in a long spasm, squeezing her fingers inside me and pushing her face with my hips. When it was over, I was trembling all over.

Marisol climbed up my body, kissing my skin: my pubic mound, belly, between my breasts, neck, and finally my mouth. We kissed with the taste of me, of her, of the two of us mixed together, and that kiss was almost as intense as the orgasm.

—We’re not finished—she murmured against my ear. Not by a long shot.

She turned around and climbed onto me backward, in sixty-nine. She lowered her pussy onto my face with calculated slowness and brought her mouth to mine. I grabbed her ass with both hands and spread her cheeks, then began licking everything all over again, pussy and asshole, while she devoured me. We ate each other like that for a long while, rubbing our faces against each other’s cunts, spitting, licking, biting. Marisol came again before I did, crushing my face with her ass, and I followed a few seconds later, smothering my cry against her soaked pussy.

When she climbed off and settled beside me, we were both shining with sweat and saliva. I fell asleep immediately, one of her legs crossed over mine and her tits against my back, so reality could turn into a dream.

***

The high sun filtering through the curtains woke me. My half-open eyes traced Marisol’s naked figure standing beside the bed. The slight roundness of her belly, a neatly trimmed little triangle, her pussy still somewhat swollen from the night, two dark tufts above it, and a mischievous smile I had never seen at the office.

A wall clock showed nine.

—I’ll race you to the shower—she said.

I followed her. After rinsing my mouth, I joined her beneath the stream of warm water. Marisol took the soap and began lathering me like a child, laughing, running her soapy hands over my tits, my belly, between my legs. And those soapy hands soon stopped being innocent. She slid two fingers into my pussy under the water while sucking one of my nipples, and I pressed her against the tiles and spread her legs with my knee.

—Not again—she protested, laughing. I’m not going to be able to walk.

—One more time. Quickly.

I fucked her with three fingers while she stood there beneath the falling water, biting her neck as she tugged at my wet hair. She came quickly, pressed against me, biting my shoulder so she wouldn’t scream. Then I knelt in the shower and licked her pussy again, water soaking my face, until she came again clutching the towel bar.

When we got out, we made love once more on her bed, this time without urgency or fear, slowly, looking into each other’s eyes, rubbing our wet pussies against each other until we came almost simultaneously, holding one another. Certain that she regretted nothing.

—Do you think we should talk?—she asked me afterward, still breathing hard, lying against my chest.

—I think we should.

—I’m starving. What about you?

—Me too.

—Good—she celebrated. Looks like we agree on something else.