The Girl from the Gym Was Waiting for Me in the Showers

That afternoon at the gym, I wasn’t looking for anything different. I wanted to sweat, get tired, clear my head. A friend had spent months telling me that working out was the best way to think about nothing, and I’d taken her advice. For weeks, my routine had been my anchor.

I almost always ran into the same group: four or five friends I joked around with between sets. That night, we had plans to go out for drinks afterward for one of the guys’ birthdays. I had barely started warming up when she walked through the door.

Her face looked familiar. I watched her two, three times, trying to place her, but I couldn’t. She was tall, dark-haired, with a toned body and a smile that showed her teeth without asking permission. She greeted the group in general and started moving like someone who knew the equipment. From the way she adjusted the weights, it was obvious she trained every day, though never during my hours.

There’s nothing worse for me than only half-remembering someone. I spent the entire hour searching my memory for her. She caught me looking at her several times. Before she could get the wrong idea, I went over to her bench.

—Sorry if I made you uncomfortable—I said. Your face looks familiar, but I can’t place you.

She let out a clear, ringing laugh.

—That line’s got a beard by now. I’m Mariana. I’m always here, but in the mornings. I changed my schedule this week.

—It’s not a line, I swear. I’m Florencia. Maybe I’m mistaken. Sorry, I won’t bother you anymore.

—Relax, gorgeous. We’ll talk later.

I went back to my routine without being able to get her out of my head. When I entered the locker room to shower, she was already there, finishing taking off her clothes. She had no modesty whatsoever. She yanked down her leggings and stood completely naked two yards from me. I looked at her round, firm ass, defined by the line of her tan, and her big tits, their dark nipples stiff from the cold in the locker room. She stepped into a stall without covering herself with anything. I tied my towel around my chest and chose the stall next to hers, my heart pounding against my ribs.

—You’re very pretty—she said as she dried herself outside.

I hadn’t pulled the curtain all the way closed. She watched me without making any attempt to hide it, a drop of water running down between her tits to her navel. It was the first time another woman, also naked, had said that to me. I felt a strange current run down my back and a warm wetness between my legs that had nothing to do with the water.

—You’re gorgeous—I replied. You have an incredible body.

—Do you really like me?

She didn’t wait for an answer. She reached out her hand and offered it to me. She didn’t say “come on” or explain anything. She simply offered me her hand. And I, without thinking, grabbed my towel with the other and gave it to her.

She led me to the last stall, the one farthest from the door. She closed the curtain, turned on the shower, and yanked my towel away. She pressed me against the cold tiles and kissed me with an unquestionable decisiveness, thrusting her tongue deep into my mouth. I froze for a second, my hands hanging at my sides. Then I returned the kiss awkwardly, almost asking permission, and she grabbed my wrists and placed my hands on her tits.

—Touch me, silly. I’m not going to eat you.

I squeezed them, not knowing how much was too much. They were heavy and warm, their hard nipples digging into my palms. Her mouth moved down my neck; she bit my collarbone and sucked one nipple until a moan escaped me and bounced off the tiles. She bit it slowly, tugging, and then did the same to the other. My eyes were closed and my head was against the wall, the water pouring over both of us, and I felt her sink to her knees, her tongue moving down my stomach, passing over my navel, her hands spreading my legs as they pressed against the insides of my thighs.

—Look at me—she said from below.

I lowered my gaze. She was kneeling in front of my pussy, her wet hair stuck to her face and a smile that was anything but innocent. She parted my lips with her fingers and ran her whole tongue over me, from bottom to top, finishing on my clitoris with a short suck that made my knees buckle. She did it again. And again. She sucked, licked, made circles with the tip of her tongue, and whenever I began trembling too hard, she slid two fingers inside me and moved them with a calm that was almost cruel.

—Fuck—I whispered. Don’t stop.

She didn’t stop. She ate me out with a thoroughness no man had ever shown me. She knew exactly where to press her tongue, when to speed up, when to slow down so I wouldn’t come right away. She kept me on the edge for minutes. When she finally let me finish, her fingers moving in and out while her mouth stayed attached to my clitoris, I came with my mouth open against my own forearm so I wouldn’t scream, biting my skin hard enough to leave the marks of my teeth. My legs gave out, and she held me by the hips until I could breathe again.

She stood up, kissed me on the mouth, and made me taste myself on her tongue.

—Now you—she said, guiding my hand downward.

I understood without words. In thirty seconds, I learned what I’d never imagined learning: how to caress another woman when you’re learning to desire her. I slid two fingers inside her and felt how wet she was, how she closed around me, tightening and relaxing. I rubbed her clitoris with my thumb, imitating what she had just done to me. She guided my wrist, setting the rhythm, moaning into my ear.

—Harder. Like that. Push them all the way in.

I did it until her voice broke. She came, squeezing my fingers inside her, clutching my shoulder and biting me where I had bitten her before. We left the stall wrapped in towels, laughing like two girls who had just stolen something, our legs still weak and our nipples hard beneath the fabric.

***

—I live a block away—she said as we got dressed. Are you coming?

—I made plans with the guys from the gym. It’s someone’s birthday.

I said it without conviction. Mariana smiled and shrugged.

—Another day, then.

Something loosened in my chest. I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to say goodbye at the locker-room door.

—You come with me. We’ll go to the bar across the street for a while, and then… I’ll see.

—Are you sure I won’t be intruding?

—Not at all.

We crossed the sidewalk holding hands. One of my friends, who knew Diego—my boyfriend—stared hard at me as soon as we sat down. I held his gaze and smiled with a calm I didn’t recognize in myself. When Mariana turned to look at me, I placed my palm against her cheek and gave her a short kiss on the mouth. There was a brief silence at the table, followed by general laughter.

—Well, now we know—someone said.

—Imagine whatever you want—Mariana replied.

An hour later, we were in her apartment, tossing our bags onto the sofa and fighting with our clothes’ fasteners. She pulled my shirt over my head and unclasped my bra in one movement. I pulled down her jeans and panties together, kneeling to do it, and paused for a second with my face level with her shaved pussy, breathing in her scent. I ran my tongue over it without thinking too much, and she grabbed my hair.

—Oh, you learn fast.

We reached the bed half naked, finishing stripping off what remained with rough tugs. Her bedroom smelled of something citrusy, clean, unfamiliar. She threw me onto my back and climbed on top of me, wedging her leg between mine, and began rubbing herself against my thigh while sucking my tits. I felt her wetness sliding over my skin, the hot mark she left each time she moved. She slipped her hand between my legs and began masturbating me while she rubbed herself against me, setting a rhythm that was hers and mine at the same time.

Then she turned around and guided my head downward.

—Eat me. Just like I did before. Don’t be afraid.

I settled between her spread legs. I ran my whole tongue over her, learning her taste, and she guided me with her hand at the back of my head, showing me where to press. I sucked her clitoris, slid my tongue inside her, slid my fingers inside her, each time more eagerly, each time less awkwardly. When she came, she pressed my head against her pussy and held me there until the contractions passed.

Afterward, we arranged ourselves in scissors, our legs crossed and our pussies pressed together, and rubbed against each other until we both came, holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes. We made love with a beautiful awkwardness on my part and infinite patience on hers. Whenever I hesitated, she held the back of my neck and kissed me until the doubt went away. Then we lay there embracing, sweaty, breathing in the room’s smell of sex.

—Mariana, what are we?—I asked softly.

—Two women who recognized each other. I don’t have another answer. Is that enough for now?

It was enough. More than enough.

***

That night, we ordered pizza and ate in bed, naked, with the sheets in disarray. We talked about everything: her last relationship, the one that had left her for someone else and broken her for an entire year; my relationship with Diego, which was lukewarm, comfortable, without arguments but also without tremors. I confessed that I masturbated guiltily and had never set foot in a sex shop. She opened the closet and took out a bag containing three toys and a bottle of lubricant.

—They’re not the ninety-year-old neighbor’s—she said when she saw my expression. They’re mine.

She took out a long, curved double-ended dildo and placed it in my hand. We laughed until our jaws hurt. After that, we didn’t laugh again for hours. She slid it slowly inside me, with lubricant, while inserting the other end into herself, and we ended up both impaled on the same toy, moving against each other in bed. She grabbed my hips and set the rhythm, thrusting hard, banging my pussy against hers, and I came like that, with her driving it deep inside me and biting my neck. Then she ate me out again, to watch me come once more, and I did it to her with my fingers until she asked me to stop because she couldn’t take any more.

That morning, when I returned from the bathroom and slipped beneath the sheets, she hugged me in her sleep and murmured something that changed the way I breathed: “My love, go to sleep.” She said it in her dreams. I stayed awake for a while longer, listening to her breathe against my neck.

***

The next day, I went straight from the gym to Diego’s apartment. I had a key. I found him in front of the computer, deleting old files. I kissed him on the cheek. I poured two coffees. I sat beside him on the sofa, asking permission with my eyes like an idiot.

The photos went by. Vacations. Birthdays. A series of portraits of a girl that left me breathless.

—Who is she?

—Mariana. My ex. I left her when I started seeing you. She was really hung up on me, clingy, always giving me presents. Such a drag.

—Were you seeing her when we started?

—Yes. Well, we ended things a few days later. Why?

—No reason.

I stood up, my hand trembling around the cup. I told him I didn’t feel well, that I needed to sleep at my own place. I went down the stairs gripping the handrail. On the sidewalk, I bent over and vomited into a flower bed.

***

Mariana opened the door and sat me down on her sofa without asking any questions. My hands were ice-cold. I told her everything, word for word, trying not to cry. She listened without interrupting, her legs crossed and her jaw clenched.

—Diego Vázquez?—she asked at the end.

—Diego Vázquez.

She laughed. A short, bitter laugh.

—I swear I didn’t know—I said. If I’d known he was with someone, I never would have agreed to go out with him.

—I believe you, gorgeous. That’s the least of it. What happened to you today happened to me a year ago. That’s his story. It isn’t ours.

She made me a tea with herbs that smelled like childhood and sat down across from me.

—What I do know—she continued—is that that son of a bitch said horrible things about me. And in six months, he’ll be saying horrible things about you. Get out before then.

***

The plan occurred to me that same night. Mariana had trouble accepting it. I had to explain three times that I needed to slam the door shut. Not out of pride, but for the sake of hygiene.

I called Diego and told him I was feeling better and wanted to take him to dinner at his favorite restaurant. He showed up Saturday in a white shirt and with the smile of someone who thought everything was under control.

I arrived first and sat down across from him. Mariana waited on the sidewalk in a black dress that turned her into a threat.

—Diego, I’m with someone else—I said bluntly.

—What?

—I met someone, and she dazzled me. It happened. I don’t want to cheat on you for another day. I came to tell you to your face.

—Florencia, you can’t do this to me. I left a girl for you, I invested…

—I don’t owe you anything, Diego. And I don’t love you either. I never told you I did, if you think about it.

I signaled to Mariana. She crossed the dining room with an actress’s calm. Diego saw her approaching, and his expression changed. Three shades paler in seconds.

—Mariana?—he said, almost in a whisper.

—Hi, Diego. Yes, of course it’s me.

—But…

—Yes, Diego, we’re together—I told him. I’m not asking you to understand. I’m asking you to deal with it.

I left the keys to his apartment on the table. Mariana took my hand. We walked out without looking back. Behind us, he remained standing in the middle of the dining room, his fork half-raised, with every diner’s eyes on him.

—You’re terrible—Mariana said when we reached the sidewalk.

—Yes. And I liked it. For you and for me.

***

She’s been living with me for six months. We painted the apartment white with green accents because one Sunday afternoon, we both thought it was a good idea. We argue about the air-conditioning temperature and who leaves the dishes in the sink. We walk hand in hand around the block, and sometimes people look at us nastily, but most of the time they look at us with something closer to curiosity than contempt. And by this point, we don’t care very much.

We never saw Diego again. A mutual friend told us he spent months repeating that two women couldn’t just leave him like that, as if our desire owed him an explanation.

Sometimes, even now, I wake in the middle of the night to watch Mariana sleep. I think about that afternoon at the gym, that shower stall, the hand she held out to me without asking for anything in return. I think about how close I came to not taking it. And I’m grateful, with a knot in my throat, that I wasn’t more of a coward.