The Afternoon Lucía Read Me My Most Intimate Story

It had been years since Lucía and I had seen each other. She found out through a mutual friend that I had written a book of erotic short stories, and that was excuse enough for her to write to me. She wanted to have a drink, catch up, and buy a copy from me in person, not online. I found the detail amusing. Hardly anyone buys a book wanting the author to sign it in front of them.

I didn’t care where we met, but she insisted I come to her place. She said that way we’d be comfortable and could talk about the content without any other ears around. So that was why, on a Saturday at five in the afternoon, I found myself ringing her doorbell with the book in my bag.

—Carla, what a joy! —she opened the door with a huge smile.

We kissed each other on both cheeks and shared an embrace that lingered a second too long. I went in, closed the door, and was met by the smell of her air freshener, soft music playing in the background, and the warm light of a salt lamp on the hall table.

—What a lovely apartment you have —I said as I peered into the living room. Everything was minimalist, but arranged with careful taste, not a single object out of place.

—Thanks. By the way, it looks like we coordinated —she said, looking me up and down.

Before leaving home I’d chosen red leggings, white sneakers, and a dark gray short-sleeved T-shirt. The funny thing was that she was wearing practically the same thing: the same red leggings, the same sneakers, and only the T-shirt color differed, white in her case.

—I’m surprised we’re almost identical, but I like it. You look amazing —I told her.

She was brunette, with wavy hair tied up that afternoon in a high ponytail. Taller than me, with curves that the tight T-shirt did nothing to hide. I surprised myself by noticing her figure so much.

—Coming from Miss Leggings, I’ll take that as a compliment —she replied—. Although I did find it funny that we even matched in color.

—Keep my identity a secret —I said, winking.

—Don’t worry. I don’t fully get it, but I respect it. Coffee? —she asked, already switching on the machine and taking out two glasses, two spoons, and some sugar packets.

We sat on the sofa with our steaming cups. I took the book out of my bag and placed it in her hands.

—Wow, a real book —she said, running her fingers over the cover—. I’ve always been fascinated by this kind of writing, but I never imagined the author of one would be a friend.

—I started little by little, almost as a game. Since people seemed to like it, I got into it, and before I knew it I couldn’t stop until I’d finished it.

—I’m dying to read it. And, as you say in the title, enjoy it alone.

—I think you’ll like it. Truth is, I feel lucky with the comments I get from people who read it.

—And do they tell you they like it, or do they give you details? —she asked, raising an eyebrow.

—All kinds. Some people have gone to the trouble of telling me how they masturbated while reading it.

—And do you like that? I mean, do you always talk about these topics this openly?

—Yes, I like it. I’ve written more than three hundred pages of erotic stories. For me, sex and everything around it is completely normal. I don’t have taboos in that sense.

—And what do you think about paid sex? —she asked, looking at me over the rim of her cup.

—I think it’s fine. Each woman does what she wants with her body. I never get into those debates; I don’t think I have anything to add.

—But you really think it’s okay?

—Yes —I answered briefly, because I didn’t know where she was trying to take the conversation.

—Come, I’ll show you something.

***

She stood up, took my hand, and led me down the hall. We passed a closed door and she opened the one opposite, turning on the light.

—I haven’t shown you the apartment yet. This is my bedroom. The bathroom is through that door, if you need it. And I have three other rooms: a guest room, a dressing room, and…

—You have a double bed —I commented—. You didn’t ask whether I have a partner.

—I did. Now I’m single. But a big bed always comes in handy —she said, not letting go of my hand.

—I love how you decorate. Everything has its place.

—And the fourth room… —she left the sentence hanging.

With a certain air of mystery, she opened the only remaining closed door. When she switched on the light I saw a single bed, a large tripod with a ring light, a white dresser, a clothes rack, and a chair.

—This is where I stream.

—You stream? Are you…? —she didn’t let me finish.

—An erotic model. A few months ago I started going live, recording videos, and selling content. And I’m not complaining. I have my audience, they treat me well, and it’s how I make that extra money that my regular job doesn’t give me.

—This confirms you really don’t have taboos —I said with a laugh, noticing a thong hanging from the rack.

—I always leave details like that so people ask me about them live —she replied with a mischievous smile—. That one is clean, but since they don’t know that, I tell them it’s been worn.

—You’ll have to tell me how to watch you —the words slipped out.

—That reminds me of something I wanted to ask you.

—Of course, go ahead —and then I realized we still hadn’t let go of each other’s hands.

—You don’t have any issue talking about sex, and neither do I. So I’ll get straight to it: are you bisexual?

—That’s a completely normal question. Yes, I am. I’ve had many relationships with women. Why do you ask?

—Because… you’re very beautiful.

The chemistry between us had always been there, latent, ever since the days when we barely even brushed against each other. Now it was taking shape, much clearer, with no masks or secrets to hide behind.

If she’s in her own house, she’s put on the same leggings as me, and she’s spent half the afternoon circling around the subject, it’s because she wants something to happen. And I liked her. So I decided the best thing was to keep quiet and stop talking.

I moved closer, slowly but with purpose, never taking my eyes off hers. I brought my body to hers, my lips to hers, and kissed her.

Our hands were still intertwined. With her free hand she wrapped my waist and slid lower, to my ass, massaging it, pressing me against her, returning a long kiss that we enjoyed in complete silence.

—I really like your stories, Carla. They’re very original —she murmured when we pulled apart, both of her hands now spread over my ass—. I’d like to have something with you, something just as original. What do you propose?

—Keep kissing me while I think about it —I told her, stroking her too, letting my fingers slide now and then toward her thighs.

***

I came up with an idea I was sure she would like. It was something I’d done once, a long time ago, with another girl. It was risky because I hadn’t brought any clothes to change into, but deep down I didn’t care at all.

—Come —I said, breaking the kiss and leading her back to her bedroom. I picked up the book on the way and left it on the bedside table.

Lucía looked at me, intrigued, eager to let herself be carried along. Her eyes roamed over my body without any pretense.

I stood in front of her and started taking off her T-shirt. Then I unhooked her bra, and I couldn’t help giving each nipple, already starting to harden, a soft kiss. Finally I pulled down her leggings, and with a smile I discovered she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She was one of mine.

—You stripped me fast. Now it’s my turn —she said, tossing the leggings into a corner.

—Take off just my T-shirt and bra —I instructed as she was already doing it—. But don’t touch my leggings.

—Why not? —she asked, watching as I sat on the bed and arranged several cushions behind my back.

—You’ll see —I took her hand gently and asked her to sit on top of me.

She settled in with her back to me, resting her shoulders against my chest. She swept her hair to one side so she wouldn’t cover my face and placed the book within reach. I closed my legs and stretched them out; she did the opposite, spreading hers and placing one on each side of mine.

—Look for chapter fifteen —I whispered in her ear.

—“The Pretty Girl” —she read, amused, flipping through the pages—. “Red Leggings”? Seriously, that’s the title?

—Yes —I laughed—. Now read it to me slowly, out loud.

—And what are you going to do while I read?

—I’m going to go slowly too —I answered, while my fingers began to stroke her lips, her clit, getting wet almost immediately with her slickness.

—Wow. I love that. Are you going to finger me while I read?

—Yes, but I’m not trying to make you come. That’s why I’ll go slowly. Though if you do come, stop reading and enjoy it.

She began to read with her legs wide open, letting me touch her in silence. Sometimes I pressed her lips with two fingers; other times I focused on her clit, which seemed to play hide-and-seek with me, peeking out and then hiding again beneath my fingertip.

Lucía read my story, moaning from time to time, losing her place and picking it back up. I thought I’d manage to get her to the end without making her come, but when there were only a couple of paragraphs left, her voice broke and she exploded.

Her whole body trembled against mine. Her moans, intense and loud, helped her let go; her breathing turned ragged, and a huge smile spread across her face.

—Fuck! I loved that.

—Finish reading it —I asked her.

She did, now calmer, and closed the book with satisfaction. She admitted she really liked the way I wrote and that buying it from me in person had been a total success. But she still had one last question.

—Carla, and now what?

—Stand up —I smiled, knowing what was coming.

She got to her feet and, when she turned around, she saw it: a huge wet patch on my red leggings. From mid-thigh upward, the tight fabric clung to my skin, soaked through.

—This, gorgeous —I told her— is all yours.

Lucía burst out laughing and flung herself onto me, and I understood that that Saturday afternoon was still very far from over.