The Afternoon I Ended Up in Another Woman’s Arms

For those who don’t know me from before, let me introduce myself again. My name is Marisol, I’m forty-four years old, and I’ve been married for half my life. I’m a redhead with dark eyes, and for some time now I’ve discovered that desire doesn’t respect the plans a woman makes for herself. It started almost out of boredom, one of those afternoons when the heat drives you to look for distractions, and ended up opening doors I didn’t even know existed.

Last summer my husband took the kids to a house we have in the outskirts to escape the city’s stifling heat. He could work remotely, and I was left alone most of the week. At first I called him at night, we played from a distance, told each other things. But curiosity is an animal that grows on its own, and little by little I started reading, watching, imagining things that had never been part of my life.

It was the last week before the holidays and at the school where I teach we’d swapped proper lessons for assorted activities. The kids ran off delighted, and for us teachers, those days are a headache. That Wednesday I was heading home tired when my phone rang. It was Renata, a neighbor with whom I share more secrets than is wise to admit. An old injury forces her to move slowly, but it hasn’t taken away her zest for life, and together we’ve lived through afternoons that would never show up in any diary.

—Drop by the house for a moment —she said—. I need to ask you for a favor.

The idea of relaxing with her sounded like the best thing about my day. But when I got there, she wasn’t alone.

—Marisol, this is Solange —she introduced her to me—. She comes by to help me with the cleaning once a week.

Solange looked to be about fifty, carried with a kind of elegance you can’t learn. She was a dark-skinned woman, with wide hips and breasts that strained the yellow blouse she was wearing. She kept on with what she was doing while Renata started telling me why she’d called me, though I quickly understood that nothing was going to happen between us that day: my neighbor was expecting another visit and clearly impatient to be left alone. What Renata wanted from me is something for another time.

Solange finished up, gathered her things, and we said goodbye almost at the same time. I caught up with her in front of the elevator and we went down together. When the doors closed and we were alone, she glanced at me sidelong.

—May I speak with you for a moment?

—Of course —I replied—. But on one condition: stop addressing me so formally. Call me Marisol, like everyone else. Why don’t you come up to my place and we’ll talk more comfortably?

She agreed. I poured her a coffee in the kitchen and, seated across from me, she began to tell me something that left me speechless. Her husband, she said in a lowered voice, had been paying far too much attention to the women around here when they went out together on the street. She hadn’t said anything to him, but she could tell. They still didn’t have their papers in order, she couldn’t work legally, and she was scared by the idea that he might take a fancy to someone else and leave her alone with her children.

—Renata told me that you… that you’re a married woman, with your life already settled —she said—. You wouldn’t throw everything away for a man. That’s why I thought of you.

The proposal was so outrageous that it took me a while to understand it: she wanted to introduce me to her husband, casually, and have me seduce him. A harmless affair, someone who wouldn’t steal him away from her.

—And why didn’t you ask Renata? —I asked.

—She’s single, she has her own apartment, her freedom —she answered—. She could be dangerous.

I laughed to myself at the logic of it. But beyond the proposal, there was something I couldn’t stop looking at: the way the blouse opened just a little at the neckline, the shine of her skin under the kitchen light, those full lips moving slowly. I sat down beside her.

—I’ll go along with your idea —I told her—. But on one condition. I want to do it with you too.

I saw her hesitate, shrinking a little in the chair.

—If my husband finds out… —she murmured.

—He won’t find out —I promised her—. Darling, if you’re willing to let him try other things, then it’s only fair that you enjoy yourself too. I assure you.

I didn’t give her time to answer. I leaned in and kissed her. Her mouth was warm, generous, and after a moment’s stillness she kissed me back with a surrender that told me everything I needed to know. Her hands moved ahead of mine and started unbuttoning my shirt until I was left in my bra. I did the same with her yellow blouse, which fell against the back of the chair.

—Madam has a beautiful body —she said, looking at me.

—Marisol —I corrected her with a smile while I slid her pants down—. Just Marisol.

We ended up standing there in the middle of the kitchen, both of us in our underwear, and as if we’d rehearsed it, we took off the last garment from each other. I knelt in front of her. I’d never had a woman’s body this close to me, and desire hit me without warning. I brought my mouth to her and began to run my tongue over her. She gripped the edge of the table and let out a long moan, surprised by her own pleasure.

—Please don’t tell Renata anything about this —she said suddenly, in a thread of a voice—. I don’t want her to think badly of me.

I lifted my head for a second.

—Don’t worry, my love. This stays between us.

I went back to what I was doing. She had an intense, different taste, and I kept going until her breathing broke and her thighs trembled against my shoulders.

—I’m coming, Marisol —she managed to say.

And she let go with a shudder I felt all the way through her. When I looked at her, her eyes were wet and she had an incredulous smile.

—I never thought you could feel this with a woman —she whispered.

***

Then it was her turn to return the favor. She led me to the rug in the living room, asked me to lie back, and knelt between my legs. It was her first time, she confessed afterward, but she learned quickly. What I had just done to her had given her a map, and her tongue found the way immediately. I held her by the nape of the neck, pushing her a little deeper, and let pleasure wash over me completely. For a beginner, she seemed like an exceptionally gifted student.

We stayed like that for a good while, until I wanted to change things. I had her lie on her back with her legs open and positioned myself over her so our bodies would rub against each other. I had only a little hair; she, on the other hand, was completely shaved.

—My husband likes it like this, even though he swears otherwise —she said between laughs—. He says it’s a thing for shameless women, and then he goes and stares at them in the street.

We both laughed. When we started moving, the friction drew moans from us at the same time. I felt her as hot and wet as I was, and we let ourselves go until orgasm reached us almost at once. Then I rolled over her and we found each other in a slow sixty-nine, with no rush.

—Marisol, this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever felt in my life —she murmured against my skin—. But promise me you won’t tell anyone.

—It’s our secret —I answered, and went back to losing myself in her.

***

When we stopped, we lay embraced on the rug, catching our breath. Solange started telling me about her homeland, how hard it had been to leave it, the journey, the years of adapting to a country that never quite finished welcoming them. I listened and felt nothing but tenderness. There was a sweetness in her that disarmed me.

After a while I got up and went to the kitchen. I opened the fridge, took out a cucumber I had there, and went back to the living room. She opened her eyes, amused.

—Did you get hungry, Marisol?

—In a way —I told her—. Though it’s not exactly for eating with your mouth. Have you ever tried putting something inside yourself?

She confessed no, that in her house those things were frowned upon, that until that afternoon only her husband had touched her.

—Well, it’s about time —I replied—. If he’s sticking his own in where it doesn’t belong, the least you can do is treat yourself too.

I asked her to sit and open herself for me. Slowly, I slid the cucumber inside her while watching her. She moaned again, this time louder, and I began moving it in a steady rhythm. At one point I left it halfway in and settled on top of her, so we’d share that improvised caress. Our bodies rubbed together again, soaked, and while we moved I couldn’t help asking her whether, since she let her husband try other women, she wasn’t tempted to try other men herself.

—I’d be scared he’d find out —she said again.

—It can be done without him knowing anything —I insisted—. But that’ll be another day.

She took the initiative. She wanted to return every single thing I’d given her, and she set about it with such surrender that I was left defenseless. I cupped my breasts while her tongue traced every inch of me, without rest, until an orgasm shook me from head to toe and she received it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I wanted to do something different for her. I took her by the hand to the bathroom, turned on the tap, and asked her to let me soap her up. Her skin was soft, incredible to the touch. I dried her carefully and, standing behind her, kissed her in places she had never imagined offering. I matched the caresses with my fingers, slowly, until I felt her melting against me, leaning on the sink, repeating my name.

—I’ve never enjoyed myself like this with my husband —she said when her voice came back.

***

We went back to the living room hand in hand, like two brides returning from a walk. We sat down to rest and it was she who sought out my mouth with a long kiss, while her hand slid between my legs. The beginner from a couple of hours earlier had become an expert. Her fingers entered me with a precision that didn’t seem improvised, and once again she made me come.

I wasn’t going to be left behind. I invited her to come closer to my mouth while I remained lying back, and she knelt over me. I tasted her slowly, already knowing what she liked, while her moans filled the room.

—Marisol, you make me so happy —she said between gasps, before letting herself go once more.

Instead of pulling away, she settled over me the other way around and sought me out again with her tongue. Like that, each of us surrendering to the other, a kind of silent competition took shape between us to see who could make the other come first. I was hungrier and lost the bet right away; she, attentive, wasted nothing.

—I never imagined I could like another woman this much —she said afterward, her head resting on my stomach.

—It’s not about race or anything like that —I answered, stroking her hair—. It’s about daring.

She turned to kiss me one last time, sweet and passionate all at once.

—I hope this doesn’t put you off meeting my husband —she murmured—. I assure you he’s worth it.

—Of course I’m going to meet him —I promised her—. But if you’re up for it, I’m also going to help you try other things. So you can compare.

She thought about it for a moment and smiled.

—All right, Marisol. But very carefully.

It was getting late and she had to go back home. She dressed slowly, never taking her eyes off me, and before leaving she gave me one last kiss that left me wanting much more. When she closed the door, I stayed seated on the rug, smiling to myself, thinking about everything that afternoon had just opened. And about what was still to come.